


Storm Vibrations

by angledust



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dragons, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-03-17 05:31:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18958858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angledust/pseuds/angledust
Summary: "When she was just a little girl, her father had promised her that she would marry Rhaegar. "Never speak of it, child," he had told her, smiling his secret smile that only Cersei ever saw. "Not until His Grace agrees to the betrothal. It must remain our secret for now." And so it had, though once she had drawn a picture of herself flying behind Rhaegar on a dragon, her arms wrapped tight about his chest."Cersei travels to Dragonstone to claim what is hers.





	Storm Vibrations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [copacet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/copacet/gifts).



The crypts under Dragonstone were nothing like those under the Red Keep, with its huge hollow caverns. Slender tunnels wormed haphazardly through the earth before ending in dead ends and rock falls. The stone didn’t shine black like the towers above, cast centuries ago into the forms of dragons. These had been here long before Targaryens. They almost reminded her of Casterly Rock, the familiar honeycomb leading down into the earth. But she knew those tunnels well, they had been her perfect playground as a child. These were a maze.

And they were wet. Soaking her shoes, even on this apparently well-travelled path. Damp dripped from the walls. In Casterly rock you were high above the sea, looking down. Here, it was right next to you. In her week on Dragonstone she hadn’t had a minute without that constant boom of the sea. Underground the rock changed the sound to strange forms. More than once she had had to stop, to check that no-one was hurrying after her, or tapping on the other side of the wall. It would have scared her a few years before, but now she knew that there were worse things out there than ghouls and goblins.

As disappointing as the rest of Dragonstone. Nice towers, but apart from that, a cold island in a cold sea, and no-one around except peasants. She had no idea why Rhaegar would choose to live here. At least after his coronation he would have to leave for Kings Landing.

Well, Elia and he would, if she didn’t do something about it. She had been full of fire when she had convinced her father to make the trip here. A fire the seas of Dragonstone couldn’t extinguish. If Rhaegar could just see her, if she could get past his father, she could change his heart. She could make him see they were meant to be together, that she was the one who could look into his beautiful sad eyes and heal him. That she was meant to be his queen. But she had barely seen Rheagar past the day of their arrival. He spent all his time underground, with a piece of stone, and if he wasn’t – with Elia. Although he didn’t seem that taken with her; they spent all their time huddling in corners, talking earnestly, before he rushed off down here. He never touched Elia, and hardly looked at her, not in the way that lovers do. It wouldn’t be like that with her. And if Rhaegar wouldn’t come to her, she would go to Rhaegar.

She smiled, well-practiced, at the guard and didn’t hurry her pace as she approached down the long tunnel. “Ser,” she said, though Maekar was only a squire, a boy no older than her.

“My lady.” He bowed low. He was taken with her, and naïve, and he would do what she asked him to do.

“Is he inside?” She whispered.

He looked around, as though you wouldn’t hear anyone coming from miles away in this echoey tunnel. “No. You may look now, but be quick.”

Of course she may. She waited for him to open the door and when he did, swept inside without a backward glance.

The room was empty, as expected. When her father had asked to see, Rhaegar had politely made excuses. It seemed only he came here.

Three lit braziers surrounded a carved black stone pedestal in the centre of the room. The room was small enough that her head was only inches from the ceiling, and warm from the braziers and two torches on the walls. There was no sound here, she must be in the centre of the rock. The floor was clean and well swept, and smooth enough for her feet to almost drift towards the alter, leaving no echo.

She stepped close to the plinth. The egg was both smaller, and less impressive than she expected. It sat in a smooth dip in the shining stone as if in a nest, about the size of a dog’s head, and a dusty brown. She had overheard an argument, back in Kings Landing, between Pycelle and some minor lord over whether it was fossilised or not. The lord had argued it must be after all this time. Pycelle, for once impressing her by getting to the point, had argued how could they know, they had no other egg to compare it to, fossilized or not. It had surprised her to hear how little was known. She supposed the Targaryens had kept their secrets well.

How much did Rhaegar know? Not enough to hatch this egg. Neither had his ancestors before him. Probably it was empty inside, all the dragons had disappeared long ago. And here the shell stayed, to be worshipped and grow hard here on this barren rock. What a strange way for Rhaegar to waste his time.

She reached out and touched the shell. It was warm. Well why wouldn’t it be, with all the fire about? Still she had to touch it again, cup her hand around it to feel the warmth radiating from it.

She stood there. She wanted to lift it, but was scared. Not scared of the egg, or of being caught, but scared of herself. It was delicate, she hadn’t realised that before. And she didn’t want to damage it. She could damage it; she was sure of it. She traced a finger over the bumps and ridges on the side nearest her. Not like stone, warm, like thick skin.

She stared at it for a long moment, then blinked like she had slept. It was different here than she expected, well, perhaps she hadn’t really thought about it before. The egg was safe here, like in a womb, but with nothing to wake it, here it would moulder and decay. Up above was so dangerous though, hard rocks and sea. She shivered as though someone had stepped on her grave, and put her arms around herself. She didn’t care about waiting for Rhaegar, she wanted to be out of here, these dusty tombs and up in the light and air. At home, or in Kings Landing preferably, but even the island above would do. She put out her hand as she stepped away, but she didn’t want to touch the egg one last time, she wanted to take it out of here with her. Which was impossible. She had the strangest feeling, one she couldn’t remember having before, of something pressing she had to do. It made her think of Jamie, always in the back of her mind, and long for him here. He understood things like this better than her. He would know what they felt, and be able to put a name, and a reason to it.

She turned and half ran from the crypt. Jaime _would_ be here soon. She should be getting ready, not wasting her time here.

…

Her mind was elsewhere on the walk up through the tunnels. But nearing the entrance she couldn’t miss the mournful wail rising above. She lifted her skirts and ran. They still splashed in the deep puddles forming at the start of the tunnel. She ran out into a grey storm-lit sky that seemed to spread for ever, the sea gone the same colour. The wind howled and rushed against her like a wall, throwing salt-smelling water here and there. She scanned the horizon for sails and found it empty.

She strode through the doors to the keep, the guard on duty knew better than to question her or make small talk by now. She walked the corridors and stairs to her fathers’ rooms, seeing no-one. The island always seemed lacking in people, and today the castle was eerily silent in contrast to the storm outside. At least the walls were strong enough to keep all but the noise of the wind out. The dragon-glass gargoyles lining the ancient hallways seemed to watch her pass and see more than they should. She had never worried about ghosts, but she shivered and would have hurried her pace if that was possible. Her mind kept going back to Jaime - he was alright, they had seen the storm, made port, he wasn’t out there on that howling sea.

She made it to her family’s suite. Her ladies sat gossiping.

“Have you any word?” she demanded.

They looked at her, dumbstruck, so she swept through to her father’s chambers. He was reading at his desk. “Father, is there any word from Jaime?”

He looked up at her slowly. “Do you think a raven can fly in this weather?”

“Would we see the boats yet?” She crossed to the window. Not yet. They weren’t supposed to arrive until evening. Still no sails on the horizon “The weather changed so quickly.”

“There were signs of a storm since this morning.”

“No one told me.”

“I believe I did.”

He had, but the sky had been still and clear, and she had thought he was teasing her. It was so hard to tell with her father how he truly felt.

“This storm is not unusual for Dragonstone. Any captain willing to sail here will be well aware how treacherous the seas are, and they, at least, are alert to changes in the weather. He will be fine. The storm may clear tonight and the ship arrive tomorrow.”

She left the window, it wasn’t telling her any more, and sat down at her father’s desk. She glanced across to try to see the letter he was writing. He didn’t try to hide it, so she didn’t bother to read more than the address. It was for the king. Her father went back to his writing. She wasn’t sure what she wanted from him. But she couldn’t face her handmaids right now.

“Where have you been today?”

“Preparing for tonight.”

“Shame. For once Rhaegar has been in a sociable mood. He gathered the guests in his rooms to hear him play the lute. He was in good form, jesting and telling stories. It’s a pity you weren’t there.”

“What does it matter? Rhaegar will marry Elia. He barely looks at me.”

He looked at her then. “Rhaegar was engaged to Elia when we came here. And he barely looked at you back in Kings Landing. But today you would have done well to speak with him.”

“I was trying to.”

“Is that why you went to the crypts? Not your worst idea. Unfortunately today you misjudged his mood. What do you plan to do now?”

“Prepare for the feast, I suppose. There will still be one, won’t there?”

“I doubt it. Rhaegar grew morose as the storm came in. I believe it may be a small affair, and he may not attend. Weather like this has that effect on some. You too may be tired of feasting, worried about your brother, and looking for a quiet place to walk and be alone. Still, you have some beautiful dresses, it would be a shame not to wear one.”

She got the hint; and stood to leave. As she reached the doorway she stopped. “I saw the egg.”

He looked up, a new expression on his face - curiosity. It was so rare, to know something her father didn’t, to have his interest and attention. “What is it like?”

“Just a stone,” she said.

…

Some of these books must be older than the keep itself. The library was deep within the castle, as far from the water as possible, dry and dusty. In this huge empty hall she had that same feeling she had had in the tunnels, of age lingering into slow decay. It made her flip through the books, and pick up one of the biggest – Dragon Riders of Old Valyria and of the Seven Kingdoms – and leave with it. Eventually someone would turn up down here, and she was not known for her reading habits. Everyone was a spy for someone, for her father, for Rhaegar, or mere idle gossip. She bundled her cape around her as she stepped out of the keep and into the slinging rain, protecting the book and her dress.

And then down, into the tunnels. The guard at the door barred her way without a word, not recognising her. She paused, it hadn’t occurred to her that Maekar wouldn’t be here, but of course he wasn’t, he was highborn enough to be preparing for the feast. She didn’t recognise the man in front of her, rough peasant stock, unremarkable. She flipped her hood down, letting her golden hair, curled for tonight, tumble down. “Prince Rhaegar wishes to meet me here,” she said.

It was a good lie. Enough damage to her honour if it was true and Rhaegar didn’t forsake Elia for her to be too dangerous to be untrue, but risky enough that the peasant wouldn’t be believed if it was his word against hers.

He looked reluctant to step aside, but he did. “Yes, my lady,” he forced out.

Cersei swept through. The egg still sat where she had left it. She put the book down with a thump, echoing in the small room. She touched the egg, lifting enough to see all sides, checking all was well.

She sat down at the base of the pillar with the book, spread it in front of her, each page the size of her lap as she sat cross-legged. It was the right place to read, warm and small and private and safe. She had not read outside her studies for a long time, and barely then. She remembered poring over the histories of house Lannister as a young child, reading with fear that became pride as she grew, of her clever, daring ancestors’ tricks and battles.

The houses of Valyria might be interesting too, but it was more precise information she was looking for this time. Kings, and maesters, mages and sorcerers had all tried to hatch this egg, and others before it since the last dragon died. All had failed. But they were not her. They were not Lannisters, they were not women. Sometimes the most obvious thing to her was something others didn’t see at all. Perhaps she could find some hint between the words all the others had missed. They would think it unlikely - but she owed it to the egg to try. It would be too sad to see it never hatch, never flower, and remain here when she was grey and old.

The door opened and Rhaegar strode in. He didn’t look half as surprised to see Cersei as she was to see him, blinking as she came back from a world of dragon gender speculation.

“What are you reading?” He smiled down at her, and it seemed only a little forced.

While she told him the title, he walked over, to stand close to the egg. He didn’t touch it like she had, but he examined it just the same.

“You know, I don’t usually allow anyone down here without me.”

She had no answer to that. She should stand and apologise. But now she was caught out, she found herself staying where she was. If Rhaegar was angry at her for being here the deed was done. If not, then this was her opportunity. She should smile and charm him, but instead she found it difficult to stop her eyes drifting back to the page.

“I didn’t know you were interested in dragons.”

“I am.” He was looking at her with a strange look. Of course that required more information. “Of course I am, it’s the last dragon egg. Who wouldn’t be? It’s fascinating.”

“If you find a way to hatch it let me know.” She didn’t like his teasing tone, or the way he ran his fingers over the egg, absent-minded, like stroking a cat.

“What I’ve read so far is all I know of dragons.”

“Then you know as much as me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. These books are so long and written so long ago. I wanted to know more about the history of this egg.”

He smiled, and he told her about trying to hatch the egg. He talked at length, this was a subject he cared about, and he wanted an audience. Cersei listened attentively, but each tale ended the same. He had failed. Fire and magic and patience and time, all had failed to hatch the egg.

And all the time he spoke he watched her a little strangely, like he was seeing her for the first time. She was beautiful, she knew. The gown she wore today was Lannister gold, not as fine as the red she had worn the night of their arrival, but it suited her well. It was an older gown, altered from when she was younger, and she had thought to wear it when Jaime arrived. So he could see how she had changed, and how she had stayed the same.

It would glow in the light down here. She would glow. Rhaegar thought she had come down here to meet him, had probably been told so. Let him think it. She had longed for him to look on her like this before, but now she found him only a distraction. He had failed. She had reading to do.

“You’re welcome to come here when you want, but please let me know first and I can escort you.”

“I only want to come down here to read, I would not be good company.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. But why read here? Are your chambers unpleasant?”

“No- I-“ She glanced at the egg. She didn’t want to tell him how she felt about it, couldn’t put it into words even if she did want to. But he followed her gaze. “It’s quieter here.”

“Then feel free to read here whenever you wish. But tonight you’re dressed for a feast, and one will be starting soon.”

“Of course. Thank you Prince Rhaegar.” She stood, taking the book with her. She was well-trained enough to know an invitation to leave when she heard it. And composed enough not to look back. Still she felt his eyes on her all the way to the door.

…

The night passed slowly. Hours laying in a dark room, hearing the wind seem to slow, and then pick up again. Thinking of Jaime was usually pleasant, but their next meeting was too close, and they had been apart too long. All she could do was torture herself with half-formed doubts, thoughts she batted away like flies. Tonight there were a lot of flies. Rumour said Jaime was enamoured with this woman or that, too many to take them seriously. But what if one were true, what would she do? What if none were true, but he no longer desired her. Perhaps worse, what if he desired her but hated himself, and her, for it.

Eventually she got up. It was the small hours now, and she went to her father’s silent study, and read. She had not reached the Targaryens yet when dawn broke. The ancient kings and queens of Valyria seemed to have no trouble with hatching dragons, only taming them. Had Rhaegar thought that far ahead? She went to the greying window. The sky was still, the sea was calm. She would see her brother today.

…

The ship arrived mid-morning, which had its disadvantages. She was not as well-rested as she could be. The dresses she could wear were not as beautiful, although she had picked a pale green which did suit her very well. But all this paled into insignificance as she waited at the docks. He was here at last.

She saw him wave from the ship as it came into harbour, picked out his golden hair, waited, looking oh so patient and calm. She watched his features come into view, his smile. Hers. She smiled too as their eyes met. All was right. They still shared so much that others couldn’t know.

He took her hand after a quick greeting with Rhaegar and her father. She felt electricity rush through her, shooting up her spine and leaving warmth in its trail. He was even more beautiful than before. People were looking, but she couldn’t stop, not right now. He said something to her, some greeting, and she said something back, and their eyes and their hands were locked. A handmaid giggled. She had to pull away. She had always been the more discreet one.

They had walked inside together. But that was all. At the feast he was seated next to Rhaegar, too far away for her to do much beyond catch his eye occasionally.  And she had some teenage daughters of a minor lord to entertain. At least they were too busy smiling and giggling at Rhaegar to notice how little she said.

Afterwards her father had drawn Jaime into his rooms to talk, and closed the door on her. Rhaegar’s message had arrived as she waited. He planned to go sailing this afternoon, and she was invited. She claimed seasickness and kept an eye on her father’s door.

When they emerged, she saw her father’s annoyance. He announced he and Jaime would take a walk on the cliffs, far too dangerous for her to come along. Was he trying to keep them apart? They only had a few moments to exchange a few whispered words, but it was enough for her to tell him where to meet.

She knew Maekar would allow her in, but he had just accepted it when she told him to leave. Perhaps Rhaegar had been sincere about her being able to visit at any time. That would make this a lot easier, and safer.

She hadn’t thought to bring the book, and who knew when Jaime would get here. But she had started to think she wouldn’t find the answers she wanted in that book, in any book. When she touched the egg, the sadness seemed almost comfortable, inevitable, warm. It made her think of her mother, and those she were connected too, like Jaime, those who would be a part of her until she died.

The door opened behind her.

“You managed to get away.”

“As soon as I could.” They embraced for the first time in far too long, and kissed for the first time in so long. For a second he felt stiff, distant, and then he relaxed into her and he was her Jaime again, her other half, as they had been before. Only he was taller now, and his skin more muscled, harder.

She wanted him to take her right there, up against the wall or on these rough stone floors, do all the things they had only begun to explore when he had to leave. His lips on her were burning hot, his arms tight. But first she had to show him-

“Jaime.” She pulled back, moving her hands from his back to slide down his arms and grip his hands, pulling him with her. “You must see this.”

She led him to the plinth and stood aside.

“Oh. It’s an egg.”

“Touch it.”

He did, first with his fingertips, and then resting his palm on it. he looked at her, questioning.

“It’s a dragon egg.”

“I know that.” He laughed.

“Don’t you feel anything. When you touch it?”

He drew her to him, one arm around her, hand still on the egg, as if making a line through them. “No. Should I?” He caught her expression and looked at her more seriously. “But you do?”

She nodded. She could never have told anyone else, could hardly voice the thought to herself. She was not a Targaryen, not Valyrian at all. Though there was that history in her house it was so far back, and so unlikely that it would come to her. She reached out and put a hand on the egg too, next to Jaime’s.

“What do you feel?”

“It feels so warm, like it’s alive, like there’s something inside, waiting. For me.” She pulled her hand away, shaking. “What does it matter, it’s not mine.”

He pulled her away, to him again. “And what do you feel when you touch me?”  He changed the subject, which was necessary, there could be no subject. She kissed the breath out of him. He was the only one who could make her forget the egg this close to it.

She drew him down to the floor and he sat her down in his lap. Heartbeat to heartbeat, every part of them touching, taking in the other, making them one.

…

Afterwards they sat wrapped in each other, the sounds of their breathing mixing with the steady burn of the brazier, and the chamber warm to their bare skin.

“Does anybody else come down here?”

He probably should have thought of that before. “No-one comes here except Rhaegar.” She couldn’t resist adding. “And me.”

“So you’ve charmed him?”

“Possibly.” Though Rhaegar’s interest in her was not exactly the way she had wanted. “I think he will still marry Elia though.”

“Then he’s a fool. Be careful though, people may think your maidenhood is at risk.”

She smiled while Jaime laughed at his own joke. He held her tighter though as he said it. Jaime could be a little jealous, but he wouldn’t hold it against her if she had lain with Rhaegar, not even here where they sat. He understood it was her duty. A duty she had failed at. Rhaegar’s interest in her was merely interest, not sexual interest, something she wasn’t used to and wasn’t sure she welcomed.

“Tell me what you have been doing. Tell me of the Reach and tourneys and all the beautiful girls you haven’t fucked. And the battle.”

He did and she sat and listened, wishing she could have been there with him. That freedom, to travel, to fight by his side. His words were intoxicating and through them she built a world.

After a while his tales dried up. “We shouldn’t linger. People will wonder where we are.”

“I’m with my brother, what could happen?” she said, but she stood first. “You go first. If anyone asks, tell them we went out walking, they must have missed seeing us.”

“Wait.” He stood and grabbed her hand. “Is it wrong I’m glad you won’t marry Rhaegar?”

“It would have been better for me.”

“Perhaps. But it is what it is and perhaps it’s for the best. I’ve had time to think. I’m almost a man grown, and heir to Casterly Rock, and to the Westerlands. Our father can’t force me to marry. It may be rare, but Lords have not taken wives before.”

“But he can force me to marry.”

“What if you were pregnant?”

“What?”

“We could have children. Be married in all but name. You can say it is a cousin’s, seduce them after you are sure you are with child. Then you will have to marry, but I can give them a keep far away and send them off while you remain at court. We’ll live together and raise our children together. Your children, ours, will be my heirs.”

“And what of Tyrion?”

“Tyrion is unlikely to have children.” He said it like it was a sad thing.

“I hope so, but your judgement seems so terrible in other areas I hardly trust it in that one. You underestimate our father if you think he can’t force you to marry, or that he won’t disinherit you if you force his hand. And a child won’t stop him marrying me off, it will only mean I marry even lower than the second sons I’m sure he’s considering now.”

“It wouldn’t have to happen immediately; we can delay the marriages till-”

“No, _I_ can’t. And even then, you want me to go through the shame of a bastard child, of marrying so low and of staying hidden at home.”

“I would for you.”

“Would you? I have so much more to lose than you. Don’t you see, my pride and my reputation are all I have.”

He let go. “If you don’t want us to be together you only have to say.”

“You know what I want. But your plan is idiotic!”

“Is it? Well I’m sure you can think of something better, if you care to. After all you know so much better than me. Let me know if you bother to come up with anything at all.”

Her hand moved automatically to the egg as she watched the door close behind him, but if she was looking for any comfort there, she found none. Its heat seemed sickly now, like a fever.

She remembered her mother. The days she lay dying and she had wanted to see her, or at least know what was going on, but all she could catch was snippets of conversation – she was hot, too hot. She wanted to believe Jaime, but couldn’t. Did he even believe that plan could work? They would be a figure of fun at best, both ruined at worst, Lannisters didn’t allow failure. Lions could eat their young.

She lifted the egg in her hand. It was trapped like her, a sad thing, doomed to other people’s expectations it was completely unable or unwilling to meet. People undeserving of it. Better for it to be destroyed than languish here without her.

She threw the egg with all her strength at the wall. It bounced off with a dull clunk and rolled back to her. She drew in a breath, calmed herself. What a stupid thing to do. She ran to pick it up and as she did so she saw the crack. A tear shape with papery white under it. Only a chip, but not one that could be hidden. First came the guilt, she had hurt it, destroyed it. Then the fear, they would know what she had done and who it was. She held the egg close and dropped to her knees, scrambling her hands over the floor searching for the missing part as if she could re-attach it.

All she found was grey dust. Was that the chip or had it rolled away from her? She stopped, took another look at the egg and began to cry, hopelessness overwhelming her.

Her hands shook. She stared down at the egg balanced between them. Had it moved? It looked no different apart from the chip, and was no warmer or colder than before. Perhaps she had imagined it. After a second’s indecision she stood, and brought it to the plinth, where the braziers could warm it.

It moved. She saw the shell shake this time and heard a tap. She had a dim memory of watching some pet birds’ eggs hatch, and that tapping was the same. She froze there, egg poised in her hands, unable to move. The tapping continued and the egg shifted again, and she put it down now on the plinth, crack up. She saw the whole egg tremble. The sound came from just next to the crack, where the white membrane bulged, something shifting beneath it.

The braziers burnt steadily. She had an urge to turn the heat up, but no way to do it. Someone would have to come to refuel them eventually. Not too soon, not now though. When she put her hands on the egg the tapping stopped until she took them away. As though it could sense her there. “Come on, come on…” she whispered.

But while the tapping continued, the rustling noises and movements seemed to swell and fade as she watched. The egg was so old, perhaps the shell had grown too hard. She tore away at the white membrane with her nails, exposing shining black skin underneath. It was tight against the walls; how could it force its way out?

She put her nails against the break in the shell and used both hands to try to force it apart, but it might as well have been stone for all it gave. Then the surface under the shell rippled again, and something pushed itself out of the opening. A hard horn or a tiny snout. It drew away and the tapping on the egg began again with renewed fury. Every now and then the dragon would miss the shell wall and try to force its way out through the opening. It seemed so loud, she looked around afraid that if there was a guard outside the door he would hear, and then the dragon chirped.

She laughed. The dragon was beating on the walls of its cell now, and the shell cracked along a line, powder puffing up into the air and dropping onto the plinth. The shell split in half. Out of it came a lizard, about the size of a small dog, standing on unsteady, ungainly legs, and hissing breathily. It turned like a cat making a nest.

It settled, long tail wrapped around its side, and craned its neck up at her. She reached out a hand to touch it and it let her stroke its cheek, and then run a hand over its body. Its brown scales caught the light, and shimmered bronze where the fire touched them. It didn’t respond to her touch, just watched her with burning gold eyes. When she pulled her hand away it lowered its head to its shoulder and began making made faint chirps and caws.

Of course, it was tired after that. And hungry, it needed its first meal. But there was nothing to feed it here. She supposed she should ask the guard to fetch Prince Rhaegar. But of course she wasn’t going to do that. They had to leave, couldn’t be found here.

Was it going to let her pick it up? It did, thrashing its head and tail as she lifted it in the air, but it folded its wings together and sat still, cradled in her arms. It was much lighter than it looked. It fit well in her arms. Would it let her cover it in her cloak? She pulled the fabric around her and over it. Its tail whipped every now and then and it would chatter, but it lay its head down along her arm, just the snout sticking out. Would this be enough for it to go unnoticed? Perhaps, if she was lucky, if it didn’t move too much. And then? She had to time to worry about that later.

There was no guard at the door. It hadn’t been very long, not enough for the guards to change, she might not have even been missed. The dragon stayed quiet through the crypts, but as they walked out into the evening sun of Dragonstone it began to snuffle, poking its head from the cloak and darting back under, tail thrashing around. Its first glimpse of real sunlight in hundreds of – well, ever. Had it been awake at all in the egg? Perhaps recently. And that wasn’t Rhaegar’s doing, that was her.

She held it tighter, rocking it a little. It seemed to resist, then relax, wrapping its tail around the forearm that didn’t currently have a small head resting on it.

She passed many people on the way to her chambers, and though some looked at her a little oddly none of them looked at her carrying the first dragon in centuries oddly. At worst they would think she was carrying some mangy stray cat or excitable fish. No doubt they would make rumours out of that.

She kicked the door open to her chambers. Her two handmaids were there, they leapt apart as she strode in. “Go! Go find my brother! I need to talk with him.”

“But he’s with Prince Rhaegar.” One of them said.

“I don’t care. Tell him I’m ill, and he needs to come now. Go!”

They did, one hurriedly, the older one less fearfully, all but rolling her eyes. She needed to get rid of that one. Perhaps she could marry some second son.

She put the dragon down on her bed, drawing the curtains around it, and watched it explore.

Jaime arrived quicker than she expected. “Cersei?”

“It’s just you?” She crossed the room to greet him.

“Yes, luckily I had just left the others when I met your handmaidens or the whole keep would be here. Bethan seems to think your dying.”

“Good.”

“But you’re well?” He reached for her, but she was already walking over to the bed.

“I have something to show you.” She pulled back the curtains.

He stood there, open-mouthed. The dragon hissed, but she stroked a hand down its spine, and it simmered down. He came to them.

“Is it real?”

“Of course it’s real. What else could it be?”

“How did you – how did it hatch?”

“After you left. It just hatched in my hand.” She missed out that part about throwing the egg, it seemed unnecessary.

“But- “

“Look at it, it needs to eat.”

He was leaning down next to the bed to see better, and the dragon hissed at him again. She sat down on the bed with it, where it climbed closer and rested its head on her knee, keeping an eye on Jaime. It did look incredibly fragile. “Sit down.” He sat on the edge of the bed while she stroked the dragon, which it seemed to tolerate.

“Rhaegar will know it’s gone soon. The party in his chambers is breaking up, and he is only a little wine drunk. He will visit it tonight,” he told her.

“They won’t know where it is.” Rhaegar would find the egg hatched and dragon missing before the end of the night. He knew she had been there, but he had no proof – except the many people who had seen her carrying a bundle up to her rooms, she realised. And of course he would think to search here.

“I think he might be able to guess.”

“Jaime, it needs food. We don’t have much time, but the dragon needs to eat now.”

“Time for what?” He sighed. “Cersei, this is a terrible idea. What does it need?”

“Meat, as fresh as you can get it.” At least reading that book was useful for one thing. Sickly young dragons had been raised on milk and soft strips of tendon meat, so the dragon wouldn’t refuse non-live prey. It might prefer the hunt, but there was no way they could make that much noise here.

“Alright, I’ll find something.” He left, still looking a little dazed.

She petted the quiet dragon. Every part of it seemed perfectly formed, from its tiny claws to every thin leathery fold of its now drawn close wings. It looked up at her and closed its eyes. She chirped at it, like it had before and it opened them back up and eyed her suspiciously. Her instincts told her it shouldn’t sleep before it ate. Had it grown colder? She edged a little closer-

The door opened. “Jaime- “

Rhaegar and one of his guards, the surly one from the tombs walked in. Her own handmaids trailed behind. The others gasped when they saw what sat next to her, but a smile rose on Rhaegar’s face, and he came to the bed.

…

She put her ear to the heavy door, not caring for the guard or her handmaids’ eyes, but she could hear nothing. She had purposefully chosen the suite farthest from her fathers, and if not being able to hear what was going on in her rooms was a good thing, she had chosen well.

She had not told Rhaegar how the egg had hatched, she had not acted in a ladylike manner when they had pulled her away so Rhaegar could spend time with her dragon. She would not now. She paced the room, again.

She almost wished for her father to arrive to berate her, then at least she would have some news. Or better, Jaime, she didn’t yet know what had happened to him. “I need to see my brother. Bring Jaime here. Find him!” she shouted at her handmaids. But they and the guard ignored her, just as they had every other time.

She still pictured Rhaegar, eyes only for her dragon, smiling at it, as she was bundled out the room. He couldn’t have it. He would kill it; he would kill her.

She was still pacing when Jaime entered. He caught her in his arms. “Wait outside,” he told the guard and the maids. And they obeyed. It angered her that his voice carried so much more authority than hers when he must be implicated in this too. But it was only a momentary distraction. “I need to see it.”

“That’s why I’m here. Rhaegar’s sent for you. The beast won’t eat.”

“What are they doing to it?”

“He’s not about to hurt it. He seems as infatuated with the creature as you. But not like you.” He added hastily at the look she gave him. “He’s trying to get close enough to feed it, but it won’t allow him or any other near. He thinks it needs you. He’s right isn’t he?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “It’s mine.” Though it was hardly that simple.

She went with him to her chambers, the guard following behind. Rhaegar was there, kneeling next to the bed. And half of the keep seemed to have come to watch him bother her dragon. It hissed and roiled back. She supposed it was trying to breath fire, but all it could do was open its mouth and scream silently. He had a bowl of milk and goat meat by his feet. He had read the same books as her. She crossed to the bed and sat next to the dragon, but still it agitated. “You need to move away.” She told Prince Rhaegar. When he did, she signalled to the rest of the onlookers, “Back up, against the wall there.” She did not send them out of the room, she wanted them to see as the dragon relaxed and came to her. Perhaps that was why Rhaegar had them here, to see the triumphant moment when he tamed the baby. But the way he was looking at the dragon, and her, she wasn’t sure he had even noticed them arrive.

She almost asked Jaime to pass her the meat, so they all could see how the dragon tolerated him, but thought better of it. She had a use to Rhaegar, while Jaime was just a threat. She knew Jaime would never fly her dragon, not without her, but Rhaegar still though he himself might. Dragons seemed a hateful beast, the way it looked at all others but her. Even the way it lay against her, there was no love as most would see it, only connection and need. But it was strong enough. The dragon recognised Jamie in her, one day they would fly together. But not if Rhaegar got his way. Rhaegar would have her fly it, carrying him. And would he ever really be satisfied with that? The great Prince, a passenger on his wife’s dragon? It did not matter anyway, the dragon would never allow him on its back, because she never would.

She fed the dragon and it ate well, until it became sleepy. The bowl empty and her dragon asleep beside her she appraised the room. Everyone was watching her, waiting for her lead. But before she could open her mouth it was Rhaegar who spoke to dismiss the crowd. As they filed out, he stepped closer to her. The dragon shifted at her side. “My lady, you should rest too. Don’t worry, I won’t disturb his slumber.”

She hated him for the kindness in his voice. She was sure it was true; he wouldn’t disturb the dragon’s sleep. He could wait. He knew he had time, a whole lifetime to bend the world and everything in it to his will.

But she didn’t. On unwilling legs she stood and walked from the bed, refusing to look back as she followed the guard to an alternative chamber which had been made up for her. She sat on the bed and tried to think. “Get out!” she ordered her handmaids. The guard had stayed outside the door at least.

Jaime walked in as they were leaving. He came to her and held her. “It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not.”

“No ones going to hurt the dragon. Rhaegar’s with it now. You know he won’t marry Elia now. He wants you.”

“Father will be happy.”

“He’s arguing with half Rhaegar’s council about the marriage alliance now. But it doesn’t matter what they say, or what Aerys says. Rhaegar’s marrying the girl with the dragon.”

“There won’t be a dragon. He’ll kill it trying to break it. He’ll kill me.”

“No he won’t. We’re Lannisters. This is an advantage and we can use this. I’ll- “

“-No, no it’s not! This is not an advantage! This is a dragon. This is the last dragon and he will take it from us!”

He seemed to understand what she was saying, and pulled away. “What do you want to do?”

“I need my dragon.”

“That’s going to be difficult.” He crossed to the window, and after a moment she dried her eyes and followed him. Ground floor, Rhaegar was very clever. There were no bars on the window, there was no need, this was an island after all. Nowhere to hide. You could just see the tip of the harbour from here. “The captain of the Wyvern, the ship I sailed in on, I had asked him to take the two of us out tomorrow for the day. We would only have had one day, after that the ship sails to Essos. I didn’t have enough money to pay him, but he told me Lannisters always pay their debts. He knows our reputation.”

“Get me my dragon, Jaime.”

“You’ll be giving up everything, we both will.”

“Not everything.” She kissed him, and they were the only two people in the world.

When he returned, bloodied sword in one hand and furiously wriggling bundle in the other, she was ready to go.

 


End file.
